


Think of Me

by EnglishPlant



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, M/M, Mind Reading, frenemies to lovers, magic curses are fun, mature for language and future intimacy, trying to keep inquisitor generic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglishPlant/pseuds/EnglishPlant
Summary: Dorian and The Iron Bull are on good terms, considering one is a Tevinter Altus and the other is a Ben-Hassrath. They've shared a few looks, and more than one innuendo, but neither had fully considered going farther, that is, until Dorian finds a cursed necklace that allows him and Bull to read each other's thoughts - but only when they're thinking of the other.
Relationships: Doribull - Relationship, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. You Should Knock

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of following their canon romance, but adding in a twist because magic is fun, and Dorian needs a good challenge. 
> 
> I'm trying to keep the inquisitor pretty generic, so you can substitute your own in if you'd like. :) Other canon characters will pop up as the fic progresses. 
> 
> First chapter is set up!

The rank and file soldiers had communal baths. Normally, Dorian wouldn’t be caught dead in them, but in the middle of the night, with the right bath salts, a quick spell to heat the water, and if he closed his eyes real tight, he could almost pretend he was in one of the bath houses of Minrathous. 

Dorian sank down in the tub, eyes closed as the scent of jasmine filled the air. Eyes opening, he tipped his head to the side, staring off through faint clouds of steam at the far wall. 

It seemed surreal, to be in the center of events, in the inner-circle of the Inquisitor, as a nearly disgraced Altus from Tevinter. To be a close friend and confidant to the most powerful woman in Thedas hardly seemed believable. 

As he mulled over the series of events that lead him to this point, a hand rose idly from the water. Though Felix had passed and Alexius was essentially imprisoned, Dorian still thought of them. The words found in Alexius’ journal in that dark future haunted him. The events at the conclave were a fixed point in time. Nothing Alexius did allowed him to go back further to correct what Corypheus wanted. How does a point in time become fixed? More importantly, how many points in time are fixed? Without thought, magic gathered at his fingertips, green and globulos, it hovered in the air -- a practical application of the once theoretical time magic. 

“Don’t you ‘vints ever give it a rest with that magic crap?” A gruff voice interrupted Dorian’s thoughts. 

Dorian’s hand dropped, he turned partially to look back at the entrance of the bathhouse, “It is customary to knock before intruding on someone’s bath.” 

“In your own bathroom, maybe.” 

Iron Bull, no, The Iron Bull, Dorian corrected himself, stood in the doorway of the baths. 

Bull once said that he put “the” in front of his name to make him sound more like a tool, and Dorian wondered who the hell does that. Truly, to relegate oneself to that level was an insult to the Ben-Hassrath’s intelligence, though Dorian never intended to tell Bull this. Nor did he expect The Iron Bull would appreciate his contention on semantics in the common tongue. 

“I asked if you would mind if I joined you.” 

Wait, Bull said something? Dorian realized he had been staring blankly at the Qunari. 

“Well, as you pointed out these are general baths. I suppose I cannot say no. What are you doing here at this time of night?” Dorian was grateful for the thick layer of foamy bubbles on the surface of the pool as Bull walked past him, a large towel wrapped around his waist, a small bundle of belongings in a hand.   
“Just got back from the Exalted Plains. Place was filled with death. Dead rising from the ground, demons roaming the place, bah,” Bull tossed the towel on the side, “I want the stink off me.” 

Dorian tried valiantly not to look at Bull’s truly impressive length -- dammit Dorian you weren’t going to look -- before the Qunari climbed in. Bull let out a sound of contentment as he sank into the water. 

“You mean you don’t enjoy trekking through every bog our dear Inquisitor finds?” 

“I’m not as fragile as you, but after the seventh body pit, I didn’t want to put off a wash.” 

“Point taken, and I am not fragile,” Dorian protested. 

Bull grunted in response. He pulled a bar of soap from his pile of belongings, lathering it between his massive hands. 

They sat in silence a moment. 

“I heard the boss has Alexius researching magic for the inquisition,” Bull washed an arm, thick muscle flexing as he moved to reach everywhere. 

Dorian looked back at Bull. He didn’t sound entirely disapproving, odd, given the fact Dorian knew he opposed the alliance with the rebel mages. 

“He always was happiest researching,” Dorian said evenly. It was no secret he had studied under Alexius, and he was wary of engaging in conversation about it. 

“Just as long as he stays away from time magic,” Bull said, washing the soap from his arm and starting on the other. 

“It was supposed to be theoretical,” Dorian snapped. 

Bull looked over at him, “Until it wasn’t.” The answer was pointed. 

“He was trying to save his son,” Dorian didn’t particularly want to defend his old teacher, but he was frankly sick of getting all the flack for his country, as if he alone were responsible for all the trouble it had caused. 

Dorian stood, water running down his body in little rivulets. He tried to ignore Bull’s gaze as he reached for his towel. 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Bull interrupted his pity party, “sit.” 

Dorian thought about arguing, thought about making a rude gesture and icing the water over, and walking out but something in Bull’s tone didn’t leave room for that kind of answer, and he sat back down in the warm water. 

“Well, how did you mean it?” Dorian attempted to recover some of his pride, resting an arm nonchalantly on the side of the pool. 

“He already tried to kill the boss. We can’t trust his intentions.” 

“Well, good thing the inquisitor has some of the best mages in Thedas at her disposal.” 

Bull scoffed, “You can’t be including yourself in that list.” 

“If you expect me to rise to that bait, you shall be disappointed.” 

Dorian could have sworn he saw Bull smile. 

“Enjoy your bath,” Dorian stood, grabbing his robe and pulling it on. He didn’t miss the way Bull followed his movements. He felt his gaze until he shut the door.


	2. Magic Necklace in the Looted Chateau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While in the Emerald Graves, the Inquisitor and company stumble across an abandoned chateau. Dorian finds a magic necklace.

“He loves her too deeply. The walls ache with her longing. She waits by the gate for his letters. One comes. She waits for more, but there are none.” Cole’s soft voice cut smoothly through the dark foyer. 

“Uh, right,” Dorian looked around, noting the torn tapestries and empty end tables. An expensive looking chandelier partially blocked the hallway, pieces scattered like snowflakes across the floor. Heavy brocade curtains were torn to shreds by careless hands. It depressed him, if Dorian was being entirely honest. 

“Anyone alive, Cole?” The inquisitor asked softly. 

Cole murmured something unintelligible and shook his head. 

“Thank you, Cole. Dorian, Bull, go right, Cole and I will search the left. Meet here by nightfall, I don’t want to spend the night here.” 

“Rather face the wolves outside?” Dorian quipped. 

“More likely avoiding the dead, in,” Bull nudged Dorian as he moved past him and down the hall. 

“Andraste forbid we sleep in beds,” Dorian grumbled as he followed. 

A cool breeze drifted in from a broken window, it carried the soft scent of flowers, though they did little to mask the musk that had settled over the house. 

Dorian reached back to tap the crystal on his staff. It took a moment, but the crystal began glowing a deep yellow. It cast a dim light around them. The light was steady, though barely brighter than a candle. 

Bull grunted, “Nice trick. Let’s hope it doesn’t attract attention.” 

“Not every place is filled with walking corpses,” Dorian said mildly, swiping some gold coins off an ornately carved end table and into his coin purse. 

“The last place had a bloody demon in it.” 

“Because a young mage wasn’t taught how to use her power.”

Bull opened a door and went inside without comment, clearly not in the mood for a debate. Dorian rolled his eyes and followed him in. They appeared to be in the servant’s quarters, judging by the lack of decoration and the humble furnishings. 

Bull picked up a key ring, and Dorian found some dried elfroot in a box to help replace their dwindling store. 

They continued on, entering a more lavishly furnished part of the chateau. This must have been the family wing, judging by the ostentatious portraits on the wall. 

“No one’s skin is that perfect,” Dorian muttered as they passed by the portrait of a young man with short golden hair and dark eyes that seemed to glint even in the darkness. A cruel mouth was parted to reveal a white smile. He was dressed in military dress that was suspiciously clean given the battlefield around him. 

“Someone paid to have him look that way,” Bull shrugged, trying the handle on a door. Finding it locked, he began to try different keys. 

Dorian was about to suggest they move on when a key clicked and the door swung upon. They stared into a nearly undisturbed bedroom. Bull entered first, moving to check the wardrobe as Dorian wandered idly to the large set of Orlesian window-doors that opened onto a large balcony that overlooked a lush courtyard. As he stood, watching the sky darken from sunset to dusk, he felt a sort of presence. It was faint, but there was magic of some sort in this room. 

He cast a glance around. There were no runes, no magical traps waiting to be tripped, but there was definitely something. Something close. 

Dorian moved slowly, the feeling - a faint, nearly imperceptible ripple, like the caress of cool air on a warm cheek - grew as he neared the desk. He sat on the velvet covered chair, and sorted through the papers and books on the desk. Whoever owned it must have been prolific in their correspondence. 

He picked up a rather bulky envelope. Turning it, he saw the hastily poured wax seal had been broken. He tipped the contents out and an amulet of some sort fell onto the desk. There, that was it. Dorian picked it up and studied it curiously. 

It was more of a necklace than an amulet. A thin silver chain with a charm shaped like a small book hung from it. Elegantly carved, it must have been dwarven make, for when Dorian discovered a tiny clasp the book opened to reveal two blank pages where the metal was so lustrous the pieces acted like a mirror. An odd item to imbue with magic, in Dorian’s opinion. 

He set the necklace down as he opened the letter. It began: 

Ma Cherie, 

This war is terrible, and as Duke Gaspard’s forces move on our encampment, I begin to fear I may not return to you. I will fight to my dying breath to make it back to you so that I might hold you in my arms. 

I had this charm made for you, wear it, and think of me. 

Yours, 

Eduoard ~~ 

“What’s that?” 

Dorian nearly jumped out of his skin as Bull spoke from directly behind him. For a man of his size he moved quietly. 

“Not sure,” Dorian admitted, sliding the letter back into the envelope. 

“Pretty trinket,” Bull picked up the book. His hand dwarfed the charm. 

“It’s magic of some sort,” Dorian hid a laugh as Bull immediately dropped the necklace. “It’s not harmful I don’t think. I’d like to study it more, at any rate,” he picked it up and slipped it back into the envelope, and stowed it in his pack. 

“C’mon, we should go back,” Bull said as he glanced out the window. 

Dorian hummed his assent, and the two went back the way they came to meet the others.


End file.
